Shock
by SnarkyMuch2
Summary: Written for Kettle o Fish's prompt on the OhSam Comment meme. The actual prompt was rather long, but here is the gist: Sam falls down into a collapsed mining shaft and gets seriously injured. Dean is there, trying to help him until rescue arrives. Hurt!sam


**Title:** Shock

**Author:** Snarkymuch

**Rating:** PG

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort

**Pairing(s)/Character(s):** Sam, Dean

**Warnings****:** None

**Spoilers:** None

**Summary:** Written for **kettle_o_fish** 's prompt at the **ohsam** Comment Meme.

**Total Word Count**: 2,200

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Shock**

"Hurry up, bigfoot. I want to get out of these woods sometime today."

It was cold and the weather looked like it was about to change into something far worse. Storm clouds were on the horizon, and the last thing they needed was to be trudging through the backwoods in the snow.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder. "Come, Sam. Move it already."

Sam glowered at him, grunting as he dragged the corpse behind him. "Well, if you hadn't lost the lighter, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Don't go blaming me! If you hadn't zoned out when you were supposed to be paying attention, I wouldn't have gotten attacked and dropped it," Dean snapped back.

Sam grunted as he shifted his grip on the wendigo carcass. "Whatever, Dean. Just do me a favor and shut up."

Dean was pissed. Sam had dropped the ball, and it had nearly gotten both of them killed. Luckily, they escaped with minor injuries, Sam only getting a small gash when he decapitated the wendigo. It fell then and there. But with the lighter lost, and the flare gun spent, they couldn't burn the corpse, and they didn't want to take any chances, so Sam was elected to drag it back to the car where they had gas and another lighter to burn it.

Dean looked around trying to place them. There was an old stone wall up ahead, so it was only another mile or two until they reached the road. He figured he should offer to help Sam but part of him was okay with making him work a little.

Just as Dean was about to shout back again, he heard a crash. He spun on his heels and looked around. Sam was nowhere in sight. Immediately, his heart sped and his breath caught.

He ran back towards where Sam should have been and stopped in his tracks when he saw it. There was a hole, like some kind of old shaft had given way and sucked Sam down.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, stooping down to get a look in the hole. He couldn't see. It was too dark. "Sammy!" he yelled again.

There was no answer, so without thinking, Dean grabbed a nearby sapling and lowered himself down into the hole. His feet dangled, and then he let go, falling with a thump onto the ground below.

His hand landed on a warm lump, and he knew it was Sam. He patted at him, trying to orient himself.

He squinted in the darkness as his eyes adjusted. The gloomy sky above only casted enough light to barely see by.

There was a moan and Dean knelt down beside Sam. "Hey, you with me Sammy?" he asked, checking Sam quickly for obvious wounds. There was no blood, so Dean took that as a good sign.

"Dean?" Sam slurred. "What happened?"

"You fell," Dean said, leaning over and checking Sam's eyes. His pupils were didn't look right. One seemed slightly larger than the other.

"My head hurts," Sam said.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?"

Sam looked confused. "What happened?"

"I just told you. You fell."

"I don't remember."

Dean's panic began to build. "Sam I need you to lie still for me, okay?"

"What happened?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "You fell. Now hold still." Dean reached out and carefully ran his fingers through Sam's hair, feeling for any lumps. He found one, right on the base of his skull. He pressed gently and Sam whimpered.

"Hurts," Sam said, his words becoming harder to understand.

"Sam, I need you to pay attention to me, okay? Where else do you hurt?"

Sam blinked and opened and closed his mouth. "I don't know. I can't feel anything else."

It felt like someone slammed a fist into Dean's stomach. "What do you mean, Sammy? What can't you feel?"

Sam licked at his lips, his expression blank. "What happened?"

Dean sighed, leaning over and taking Sam's hand. He pressed his thumb nail into the base of Sam's, testing his feeling. Sam's hand twitched in response. It wasn't much but it was a relief. Sam could at least feel on some level.

"Dean," Sam said, blinking up at him. "My head hurts. I don't feel good."

Dean brushed the hair away from Sam's eyes. "I know, but we're going to get you better. You just need to hang on a little longer."

Dean reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. He quickly dialed Bobby's number. He wanted to call 911, but they were stuck next to a dead Wendigo and that was going to be hard to explain. With any luck, Bobby would have some contacts in the area that could come to their aid.

When Bobby answered, Dean gave him a quick rundown of what happened and the shape that Sam was in, which he knew wasn't good. Thankfully, Bobby knew the county sheriff and was able to arrange a no questions rescue, but the only problem was, it was going to take a while for help to arrive.

When he got off the phone, he looked down at Sam to find that his eyes had drifted closed.

Dean leaned over him and tapped his cheeks gently, but Sam didn't move. He didn't even twitch.

"Sam," Dean said firmly, trying to gain his attention. "Come on, Sammy. Time to wake up."

Sam's eyelids twitched and then slowly opened. He had a glazed over expression that send chills of worry through Dean.

"Dean," Sam slurred.

Sam's speech seemed to be getting worse and it was worrying him.

"Right here, Sammy," Dean said, taking his hand. Dean gave it a squeeze but Sam's hand didn't move at all. It was limp and lifeless, and it made Dean's stomach clench. He had to get Sam out of there.

Sam tried to turn his head but Dean quickly stopped him, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I think you've hurt your neck. You need to stay still."

Dean leaned over him and checked his pupils again. Even though it was dark, he could still see they were far too dilated. He sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair.

"What happened?" Sam looked up at him, eyes wide.

"You fell and hit your head, pretty hard from what I can tell."

"Oh," Sam said, letting his eyes drift closed.

"No, you've got to stay awake for me, okay?" Dean said, rubbing his thumb against Sam's cheek.

Sam tried to turn his head again, and Dean had to hold him in place. "You gotta stay still for me."

"I'm cold," Sam said.

Dean shrugged out of his coat and laid it over Sam. "Better?"

Sam shivered and twitched. "Can't feel it."

The simple words hit him hard, a bleak reminder of just how bad things were.

Dean pressed a hand to Sam's throat, checking his pulse. It was weak and beating far too fast. Dean pressed a hand to Sam's forehead, checking his temp. His skin was cool and clammy. He was going into shock.

Sam blinked, licking at his lips. "Feel sick."

"Shit," Dean cursed. If Sam was going to be sick, he would need to be shifted at least to avoid choking on his own vomit.

Dean put a hand on Sam's stomach, feeling the muscles twitch under his hand. He gently began to rub what he hoped was soothing circles there, trying to offer a little comfort. It worked when Sam was little, and he was hoping it would work now.

Sam took a stuttering breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Easy, Sammy. It's going to be all right."

Dean reached over and gave Sam's hand a squeeze, but Sam's hand only twitched. He held onto the little hope it offered him.

Sam shivered again and Dean knew that he needed to do something now. He got up and looked around for something to prop up Sam's feet with. Then his foot hit something hard, and he realized the answer was right in front of him. The dead wendigo. He bent down and grabbed it, twisting its body and dragging it over to Sam. Once he got it in place, he dropped it with a thump.

Bending down, he carefully lifted Sam's legs and placed his feet on the body. It was about the right height, and he hoped it would be enough to help Sam.

With little else to do, Dean lay down beside Sam and pressed his body as close as he could to him, hoping that some of his warmth would make it to his little brother.

Snow began to lightly fall and Dean shivered. If help didn't come soon … he didn't want to finish that thought.

He looked over at his brother who was drifting off again. "No sleeping yet, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard and Dean wondered if the nausea was coming back. He slid his hand under the jacket and began rubbing gently on his belly. Dean had no idea if it was helping or making it worse, but it made him feel like he was doing something, so he kept doing it.

"Talk to me, Sam," Dean said. "Let me know that you're still in there."

Sam blinked. "Dean?"

"Right here, buddy."

"This is bad, isn't it?" Sam struggled to get the words out. It seemed to wear him out and Dean felt a wave of guilt for encouraging him to speak.

"You're going to be fine. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Can't think, mind's fuzzy," Sam said slowly. "Neck hurts."

"I know. Help is on its way."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"You fell, Sammy."

Sam pursed his lips and blinked slowly. "I don't remember."

"I know, you hit your head pretty hard."

"Dean, I'm cold."

"I know, Sam. I'm trying to warm you up."

"Okay," Sam said, closing his eyes.

"No sleeping, Sam," Dean said firmly.

"Tired. Dark feels good."

"Sammy, no! Stay awake, you hear me?"

Sam drew a shaky breath and then his eyes closed and he drifted off.

"Goddammit, Sam!" Dean snapped, pushing himself up. He knew that with a head injury as bad as Sam's sleeping was the last thing he should be doing.

He pushed his knuckles against Sam's sternum and rubbed, hard. Sam didn't stir. Dean began to panic. He felt for Sam's pulse and it was weaker than before and his breathing was shallower.

"Come on, man. Don't do this to me," Dean pleaded, brushing Sam's hair back. "You're going to be okay. That's why I'm here. You can't leave me, Sam."

Just then there was a crashing sound above him and then there was the sound of someone calling Dean's name. The search party had arrived.

"Down here!" Dean yelled. Dean looked up through the falling snow into the night sky, snow landing on his face. "We're down here!"

There was a flash of light, and then someone was leaning over the hole.

"We found 'em, Sheriff."

Dean nearly cried in relief. He looked over to Sam, and his smile fell. Sam wasn't moving. At all. His chest was still.

"No, no, no, no," Dean said as he slid moved back to Sam's side. He pressed his fingers to Sam's throat, only feeling a faint flutter.

Ignoring the movements above him, Dean gently titled Sam's head back and lowered his mouth to his, giving him a breath. Sam's chest rose and fell and Dean did it again. There was a commotion beside him but he stayed focused.

Suddenly, there were arms grabbing him and pulling him back. Dean tensed, not wanting to give up his post beside his brother.

"We're trying to help," one of the men said. "You need to let us through."

It took a moment to process, but Dean understood and reluctantly stepped back.

They immediately took over, tearing off Sam's shirt while the other used an ambu bag to help him breath.

"His neck," Dean said, gaining a look from one of the medics. "He hurt his neck."

It took only minutes to get him stable, although it felt like hours to Dean. It felt like he couldn't take a breath until he knew that Sam could as well.

"He's stable enough to move," one of the medics said, walking over to Dean, really looking at him for the first time. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me," Dean said. "Just keep my brother alive."

The medic nodded. "Don't worry. He's in good hands."

Dean watched from below as the raised Sam out of the hole, and to his honest surprise, no one said a word about the corpse that was lying beside him.

When they got to the hospital, Dean stayed as close to Sam's side as he could. They only time they separated was when Sam went down for scan of his head and neck.

It turned out he had a hairline skull fracture but no broken or displaced vertebrae. He was going to be all right.

Eventually they settled him into a room, and Dean held vigil beside him, waiting for him to wake. He held his brother's hand in his own, giving it a squeeze. And unlike before, this time it squeezed back.


End file.
